The Maker's Example
by Salana Cousland
Summary: Sequel to Those born to duty. Salana's sacrifices have been great. Now the Chantry has officially recognised her as the Maker's Example, but how blessed will Salana seem when the past comes to haunt the present, and impact upon the future of all Thedas?
1. Chapter 1

**_AUTHOR'S PREFACE_**

_This is the sequel to **'Those born to duty',** and so to make the most out of this story it is recommended that you read **'Those born to duty'** first._

_Enjoy,_

_~ Sentogray_

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

**Happy Birthday**

_**Excerpt from the Chant of Reformation**_

_Begun 9:32 Dragon  
Acknowledged by the Divine following  
Andraste's blessing of Salana Cousland_

In my death find sacrifice,  
In my resurrection find hope,  
In my life find all that can be;  
A path walked in righteousness,  
Is traversed without desire for reward,  
For only good deeds served,  
Without expectation for self,  
Are truly good.  
(CoR Salana 1:1)

" Happy birthday," Alistair whispered into Salana's hair, and sleepily she batted away his hand as it tried to pull back the blankets that covered them both.

" No," she murmured, rolling over and snuggling back down, not denying that it was her birthday, but bemoaning the extravagance that he had been plotting in celebrations.

" You don't _really_ expect the people to just ignore the day that they were gifted the Hero of Thedas?"

Salana just grumbled and buried her face in her pillow, but Alistair continued to prod, tucking his chin over her shoulder and sliding his now cold hand from the nape of her neck down the length of her spine.

" Maker's left hand?" he hissed, barraging her with some of the names that people from all over Thedas had begun to call her. " Child of Andraste? Maker's Example?"

" Alistair!" she shrieked when he gave her right cheek a sharp pinch, and to avoid a second such attack she flipped over, only to be pinned down by the weight of his body.

" And maybe," he grinned down at her, even as she pouted. " _I_ want the opportunity to shower you with gifts."

" I don't need gifts," she grumbled, testing his hold on her wrists and he tightened his grip. " I already have everything I could ever need."

That was a touching sentiment that was not lost on Alistair, but he also knew that it was not entirely true. Despite their playful banter and the spirited, writhing struggle contest that ensued, Alistair knew that Salana was haunted by a shadow that could not be banished by magic or answered by her apparently divine connections.

Conception was not the issue.

Sustaining a pregnancy within her tainted body was.

They had already returned two infant souls to the arms of the Maker, and though Alistair would have known no greater joy than to have a child with Salana, he now vehemently prayed that she did not conceive again; in fact, he was almost at the point of suggesting that they sleep in separate beds in order to avoid _accidents_…

… _almost_.

" Majesties?" came a female voice from beyond the royal chamber, and Salana waited for Alistair to glance back over his shoulder before attempting to wriggle out from under him.

" Oh no you don't!" he growled, clamping with his thighs, but it was not enough to save them from tumbling off the bed in a tangle of limbs and blankets.

" Majesties?" the inquiry came again, and this time there was some concern in the woman's tone, even if the difference went unnoticed by the enraptured pair.

" Just a minute!" Salana called out in a sing-song voice, but yelped when Alistair bit down on her earlobe.

" This is going to take more than a minute," he assured her breathily.

" Um, Majesties," the woman called for a third time. " The Chantric convoy has arrived from Orlais, and her Most Holy Divine is requesting an audience."

" The Divine?" Alistair perked, lifting his head, and Salana did not squander the opportunity to stab him in the ribs and squirm away.

As the king collected his thoughts, and caught his breath, his queen jogged naked across the chamber to snatch up her robe and wrap herself in it.

" You'd seriously rather go and face the Divine than stay here with me?" Alistair sniffed, sitting up amid the twisted sheets.

" Of course not," Salana smirked, grabbing his robe and tossing it to him. " I would, however, rather not have her burst in here to find us rolling around on the floor."

" Hmph," he snorted, standing up buck-naked and planting his hands on his hips in an heroic pose. " It might be educational for her."

" Alistair!" Salana nearly choked. " You were very nearly a Templar!"

" If you don't like the floor we could try the sideboard," he grinned cheekily.

" I'm sure she would find that less shocking," she chuckled.

" My Lady?" the woman's voice sounded once more, but it was the cracking of the door that got Alistair's attention.

Salana dissolved into laughter as he scrambled to fling on his robe, and a slender brunette in royal livery, poked her head into the royal bedchamber.

" Doesn't anyone knock around here?" Alistair balked, red in the face and not from exertion.

" Oh, my most abject apologies your Majesty, truly," the woman apologised, bowing her head repeatedly while shielding her eyes.

" It's all right Linette, we were just getting up," Salana told her.

" Well _I_ was anyway," Alistair grumbled under his breath.

" Her Perfection has been most insistent that you confirm that the public benediction ceremony will take place _before_ all other events," the attendant explained.

Salana groaned and it was Alistair's turn to smirk.

" Rolling around on the floor is looking pretty good now isn't it?" he snickered, and Linette's face began to burn.

She was saved by a stream of attendants, who poured through the semi-open chamber door carrying large containers filled with milky, fragrant liquid.

" How many outfits do I need?" Salana inquired, as Linette ushered her from the bedroom, through her dressing room, in which stood seven fully dressed mannequins.

" One for the benediction, another for the lords' gift giving ceremony, then the city banquet," Linette answered, motioning the pursuing water bearers to continue on into the bathing chamber. " Another for the king's gift, one for the Circle's high tea, one for the private audience with your brother, and it was his Majesty's idea for you to wear the gown sent by the Empress of Orlais to your birthday all this evening."

Salana shook her head, standing before the deep, steaming stone basin into which the other attendant's had poured the perfumed liquid.

" Why can't I just wear my armor?" she frowned. " It is _my_ birthday after all."

Linette just laughed, a light, musical laugh, and pulled Salana's robe away from her shoulders, before offering the queen a steadying hand.

" Yeah," Salana sighed, taking the offered support and stepping into the warm water. " I had a feeling you were going to say that."

* * *

When the queen was groomed and attired to the satisfaction of her most loyal lady in waiting, Salana was _allowed_ a moment's respite to indulge in what had become her morning ritual.

Her footfalls echoed loudly in the Royal Sepulture, suitably solemn sounds for that place populated by what remained of Ferelden's ruling class. Of course there were no bodies to speak of, tradition dictating that bodies be cremated, but the cold stone halls and their intricately vaulted ceilings, provided a fittingly grand resting place for the ashes of those lost to time and tragedy.

As she passed the statue of Alistair's predecessor, she could almost hear Cailan expressing his excitement before the impending confrontation at Ostagar. Oh how he had longed for the type of epic battle sung of in heroic ballads; and yet all he had received was overwhelming betrayal, and a death brought about by a truly cruel act of dishonor.

King Maric and Queen Rowan watched on, though the former's body had been lost with him at sea. Salana didn't know how Alistair really felt about his biological father, but it had never been all that important; Eamon and Duncan had both played more tangible parts in shaping the young man who had become Ferelden's third and most unlikely king of the Dragon Age.

Beyond this pair, in a lonely little recess that was lit by a single, flickering candle, sat two small urns that unlike the others, were not accompanied by finely crafted effigies.

It was there that Salana paused.

She had no tears to shed for the corporeal remnants of that which she and Alistair had sewn, seeds that her body could not sustain, for the pain ran deeper than that. Every time she visited, every single morning, she was reminded of the conversation she and her husband had had following the Landsmeet. A king was expected to have children, especially Alistair, for he was the last of the Therin bloodline; this was the only thing that she simply could not give him, no matter how much she wished it, and though she had suffered much, this actually hurt most of all.

" It is through suffering, That we learn mortality," a somewhat familiar voice declared in the dimness, and for just the briefest of moments the sound seemed to come from everywhere. As the Divine approached on silent, soft, Orlesian shoes, however, following the path that Salana had just tread, the source became more obvious. " And through mortality, That we learn the preciousness of life," the much older woman continued, and Salana did not interrupt, closing her eyes. " Through the preciousness of life, We learn joy, And in joy discover all for which we fight, A battle to end all suffering, Without which we would know nothing, Of light. So we learn the true worth of balance." (CoR Sacrifice 1:1)

A profound silence followed the conclusion of the Divine's recitation; time allowed the dust that her approach had stirred to settle, and Salana opened her eyes.

" Isn't it a little cruel, don't you think," she said finally, though she was not angry. " To use my own words against me?"

" Is it?" the Divine inquired, moving in behind the queen when she did not so much as glance in her direction. " When those words now bring comfort to so many all across Thedas? Did you not speak them because you believe in them?"

" Of course I did," Salana nodded slowly. " And I do."

" Did you also not say that, Finite is our time, To do all that we want and must..?"

" I thought you were going to take out the _want_ in that verse," Salana interrupted quietly, but the Divine continued in order to make her point.

" Lament over that which cannot be changed, Is time wasted upon a fruitless venture. If it is within your power to create change, Then only through both will and action, Will it be so." (CoR Acceptance 1:1)

" Is this how our conversations are going to be?" the queen sighed, finally turning to face the other woman. " You're going to speak to me in my own words, because if that's the case I'm going to have to exile Leliana from the court."

" Do not think I shall be so easily misdirected Blessed One," the Divine mused. " I am told that every morn you come to this somber place, to visit upon the misery of your poisoned womb, and bemoan the loss of these children whose souls were called to dwell with your divine lineage before they could know the pain that you have endured. Are you such a contradiction? Is this hypocrisy?"

" Happy birthday Salana, might have been more appropriate," Salana grated, irritation beginning to burn behind her eyes; was this woman honestly calling her a hypocrite for feeling sadness at the undeniable tragedy of two miscarriages?

She narrowed her eyes at the religious leader, a woman of cloth who had spent her long years interpreting someone else's words, rather than carving her own path toward what she believed was right and good.

" That is the trouble with scripture," Salana went on. " Only she who is quoted will ever know what was actually meant by her words."

" So there is no point in spreading your message, because I and the Chantry as a whole could not possibly comprehend it?" the Divine perked lightly, well able to see the growing frustration within the queen.

" Now you're putting your words in my mouth," Salana huffed, looking back to her two lost children, brushing her fingertips across the narrow placards that bore their names.

Wynne had suggested that the royal pair give them names, identities, even though those tiny, misshapen forms had not resembled anything close to human. It would help, she had said, in the process of grieving, but Salana was not sure how.

" When I said that lament was time wasted," she declared, her tone tight and restrained. " I did not mean that there was no worth in grief or mourning, that there was nothing to be learned from reflection upon that which has caused us agony, only that it should not be allowed to consume or twist us."

" Perhaps you should have been more specific?" the Divine offered, and this time, Salana _did_ round on her with open anger.

" I _told_ you, I am_ not_ a prophet," she growled, and the candle at her back shuddered violently. " You can give me fancy names that elevate me to Andraste's side in the minds and hearts of the people, but that does not mean that I have all the answers, to all of the questions that you have about life and beyond."

The Divine weathered the verbal wrath of the grieving woman, for in all honesty she had to admit to herself that she had pushed a little further than she had intended.

" The objective fact of good or evil in a person, comes not from blindly following the instructions of someone else, just because someone in a cathedral somewhere says they're the most qualified," Salana continued fervently. " But in observing and understanding how the actions of others impact upon the world and consciously deciding for _themselves_ what is right."

" Unfortunately," the Divine said gently, " All the people of Thedas do not have the privilege of observing your fine examples, and so we must provide them with what guidance we can, in a way that shall reach as many as possible; even if sometimes the message is not exactly what you intended."

Salana exhaled a heavy breath that emptied out all the rage.

" It was wrong of me to make such an accusation, Blessed One," the Divine apologised. " Forgive me."

" I am what I am, Most Holy," Salana told her, touching her fingertips to her lips before pressing them against each nameplate in turn. " Not what you would make of me, please do not forget that."

The Divine inclined her head as Salana turned, indicating with her posture that she was finished with her ritual and ready to move on. It was well that Leliana was so close to Andraste's child, had a way with this warrior queen, for it seemed that Salana had, not contempt for the clergy, but certainly some amount of skepticism as to just how useful the methods of the Chantry were in practically helping the people.

Andraste and her followers had been adamantly vocal about her message, after all, she was the voice of the Maker first heard by the people, but Salana was not nearly so verbose.

Though she accepted the widespread reality that the Chantry served as the spiritual backbone for most of Thedas, she was not going to let it shape her into something that she was not.

* * *

The Divine's benediction ceremony involved a lot of chanting and blessing, and acknowledgement of Salana's divine position as the Maker's Example. Though her official title and mode of address had been formalised in Orlais a month ago, this was the first time that the Divine had spoken it publically in Salana's presence, and before the lords and ladies of Ferelden and dignified guests from across Thedas.

Despite the morning's minor conflict, the queen took everything else graciously in her stride; including a rapid wardrobe change. She smiled and nodded as the lords and ladies of the realm, followed by those from outside of Ferelden, presented their birthday tidings and extravagant gifts.

All the while, Alistair sat on his throne beside her, fingers curled over hers and grinning; he seemed to be enjoying this far more than she, right up until the point a representative from the Tevinter Imperium stepped forward with a group of ten cowed elves in tow.

" My lord and lady of Ferelden," the distinguished looking, robed man began, following with his own deep bow, and there was absolute silence in the chamber. " The one true power of the Tevinter Imperium, sends its most heartfelt well wishes on the anniversary of her Majesty's birth, and wishes to present her with a gift worthy of such greatness."

The group of elves split in two, stepped to the sides of the man, and lowered to their knees before they bent totally forward and pressed their foreheads to the floor. There were murmurs of outrage all throughout the throne room, some louder than others, but all eyes rest upon the royal pair awaiting their reaction.

Alistair's first impulse was to react angrily, but this _gift_ had been presented to Salana and so he deferred to her with a sideways glance. He knew how she felt about the outlawed act of elven slavery, and had in fact prompted a long overdue inquiry into conditions within the Denerium Alienage.

The Tevinter representative would not have come ignorant of the laws, nor of the kind of reaction he would receive, and so Salana knew this had nothing to do with her birthday at all. The man was on a fact-finding mission, there to test the mettle of a woman who was quickly becoming known across Thedas by any number of colloquial titles that revolved around her connection with the Maker.

Salana took her time, her eyes travelling across the downturned heads of the elves that were now apparently hers, before she looked to the side of the chamber at one of the royal guards and motioned toward them with her hand. As the soldier moved forward to gather the slaves from their prostration, the queen lifted her chin a little higher in preparation to speak, but the Divine pre-empted her, speaking from the gallery above.

" You have quite some nerve coming here with such an appalling insult," the woman reprimanded, her tone edged. " Your heathen…" she continued, but Salana stopped her.

" I appreciate the passion of your disapproval Most Holy," she said, looking up at the woman with an even expression. " But I should like to address our distant visitor myself."

It was as gentle a 'shut up' as Salana could manage given the woman had opted to speak in the royal court out of turn. There was no denying the Divine's outrage, nor her right to feel it; it was widely accepted that the magocracy of the Tevinter Imperium was responsible for bringing about the very first darkspawn. To make matters more serious, the Imperium had also been the ones to capture Andraste and ultimately burn her to death; and there this man was, standing before the woman now acknowledged by the Chantry as that which the Maker thought all others should emulate.

" As you well know," Salana said finally. " Slavery is not a practice tolerated in Ferelden, and it _is _a practice for which I have exceptional distaste. Under Ferelden law you shall have to answer for the trafficking of elves within our borders."

Her lips pressed together for a few seconds in pause, before the very corners turned up in a smirk.

" But you already knew that, so why come? Why come before me with such contempt?" she inquired, and it seemed that everyone but she and the man in question was holding their breath.

But he said nothing, he merely smiled back at her; his was the smile of a man with a secret that he believed could shield him from reprisal.

" Very well," Salana nodded, motioning with her hand again, and this time a pair of soldiers stepped out to _escort_ the man from the throne room. " Excluding the representative from the Tevinter Imperium, I would like to express my gratitude for all of your well wishes and gifts, for which I do not think I am truly deserved."

" I think I can speak for everyone here, my dear," Alistair declared, giving her hand a squeeze. " When I respectfully disagree with you on that."

" Just the same," Salana smiled, looking to him before beginning a slow visual pan around the chamber. " I encourage you to use today's celebrations to foster greater bonds of peace between the nations of Thedas; conflict and war," she went on, her gaze falling finally upon the Empress of Orlais. " Benefits no one."

There were nods and whispers of agreement and approval, and attendants began to usher people from the chamber.

If only peace could be _that _simple.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

**Not on the guest list**

Officially, Alistair's birthday gift to Salana was a magnificent, white Antivan stallion.

" A mount," he had said. " Truly befitting the Maker's Example."

He peered up at where she sat sidesaddle on the bare back of the majestic animal, sunlight highlighting the slight auburn tinge to her hair, that glowed like a halo. There were few who could do such a creature justice, but the regal equine beast lifted his head nobly and tried.

High tea with the Circle mages had been far more relaxed than they had both anticipated, with Wynne and Irving helping to make what could have been yet another stuffy engagement, much more of a celebration. Though of course the mages in the upper echelons of Circle hierarchy wanted a chance to quiz Salana about her time as a shade, and what it was like inhabiting the body of a Genlock, it seemed that they actually had more respect for her personal space than the Divine's Chantry representatives.

Both Salana and Alistair used the time that had been scheduled for the private audience with Fergus to catch their breaths and be 'people' rather than objects of attention. The envoy from the Tevinter Imperium would also need dealing with, but that could wait until tomorrow; the slaves, meanwhile, had already been offered a comfortable place to rest for the time being, pending investigation into their origins and where they might like to go.

" She's going to make me change outfits _again_," Salana grumbled, and Linette turned her head to indicate that she had heard, despite being on the other side of the room.

" What's wrong with the gown you're wearing now?" Fergus inquired, a typical male question.

" She's still wearing it?" Alistair perked, and for his trouble got a smack on the thigh.

Fergus was now far too used to the way it was between Salana and the king to be embarrassed by the idea of his sister naked.

" Who are you bringing to the ball?" Salana asked her brother, changing the subject.

Though it could have been an awkward question given the death of his wife and son not so long in the past, it seemed that he had taken some of her _teachings_ to heart. It had come to her ears that Fergus had not shied away from a number of interested inquiries into his personal life, and that made Salana happy. He _should_ move on from that period in his life that was dominated by pain, sorrow and war, and allow himself the chance for happiness once more.

" Actually, I hadn't planned on taking anyone," he replied rather evasively.

" Well that simply will not do," Linette declared most adamantly. " You're her Majesty's brother. Who do you expect to dance with?"

" I was rather hoping that I wouldn't _have_ to dance," he pointed out.

" Oh no," Salana sniffed. " If Alistair and I have to dance, _you_ have to dance too."

" He can dance with Linette," Alistair piped up, before swallowing a mouthful of wine.

" That is _such_ a good idea," Salana grinned. " And I have _just_ the gown to _squeeze_ you into."

* * *

By the fall of night, the grand hall of Denerim Palace was filled with music and glittering with light. Alistair had already made his entrance, along with his brother in law, but no one was really interested in them, not tonight. Dignitaries both local and from abroad imbibed copious amounts of wine at Ferelden's expense, but it seemed to have relaxed some of the tension; Eamon and Celene swirled past the king, who blinked at just how light the old man was on his toes.

" This is truly surreal," Fergus exhaled. " That woman tried to kill you _both_, nearly started a war and now she's just floating around like Orlais and Ferelden are best friends?"

" It's not Celene I'm worried about," Alistair dropped, smiling and nodding his head as a couple of women curtsied to him. " But promise me, if the Divine corners me, you'll put an arrow in my eye?"

Fergus chuckled, but straightened his back when Linette emerged swathed in a tightly corseted gown in ice blue satin, her expression suggesting that she was having trouble breathing.

" Good evening your Majesty, your Grace," she curtsied a little breathily, and was only just saved from toppling over as Fergus caught her hand.

" I take it that Salana was not joking when she said she was going to _squeeze_ you into a gown?" Alistair laughed.

" I had no idea," she breathed. " That such garments designed for royalty could also be used for torture."

Trumpets suddenly called the congregation to attention, and all eyes turned to the double doors at the far end of the ballroom that had been closed over following Linette's arrival.

" That's my cue," Alistair dropped, and began down the very center of the large room, the contact of his boots on the highly polished floor, loud against the silence that had fallen.

" Her royal Majesty," an attendant just to the right of the doors announced clearly. " Blessed One, Maker's Example," he continued, and the doors opened inward. " Hero of all Thedas, Salana Cousland."

People had been poised to applaud, but as Salana stepped into view and drifted beneath the arch, appearing to barely touch the ground, the silence endured; even Alistair, who had been approaching to join her, stopped in his tracks to stare.

Her dark glossy hair framed her face with curls, and the delicate, draping folds of her golden gown fluttered gently about her though there was no noticeable breeze present. Alistair had seen the dress that Celene had sent as a birthday gift, standing in Salana's dressing room, but it had not glowed the way it glowed now, had not looked so radiant as it did now, wrapped around his wife who was the undeniable source of its true brilliance.

" _Nice_ job," Fergus whispered quietly to Linette, who was beaming proudly as the king finally regained his senses, and greeted his wife with the offering of his arm.

" Have I told you lately just how beautiful you are?" Alistair inquired quietly, as Salana coiled her arm lightly around his and motioned them slowly forwards.

" Once or twice," she grinned, but was sweeping her gaze across the spellbound crowd.

" You could ask these people," he whispered on. " The leaders, the ruling class, the aristocracy of Thedas to fall down on bended knee before you, and right now, they would not think twice before complying."

" I already have what I want," she replied softly, turning to look at him directly, the pair of them standing face to face in the centre of the massive ballroom with the whole world peering at them in awe.

" I have one more gift to give you," Alistair told her, a little louder, though still only those near them would have heard. " I wanted to give you something that meant more than just wealth," he went on, his voice slowly gaining volume; he wanted all of Thedas to know how much he loved her. " But none of the heirlooms that I have inherited from my father, have any significance to, or importance in, my life."

Salana inhaled slowly; Alistair seemed to have learned how to build up to a powerful point, no doubt thanks to Eamon's coaching.

" There is only one thing that I have from my life before meeting you," the king continued, releasing her in order to reach behind his own neck, from which he removed what had been fastened there. " I broke this, that was my mothers', in anger," he declared. " Pieced back together by a man with great patience and then found and given to me by you, because you knew how much it meant to me."

Alistair held up his mother's amulet, a silver emblem of Andraste's Flame, but Salana looked past it into Alistair's eyes, rewarding him with a smile that touched more than her lips.

" It's not gold, or jewels," Alistair said. " But it is the closest thing to a physical representation of my heart, that I have."

Salana swallowed the lump in her throat. The way he looked at her, the way he hovered, seeming almost not sure, even now, that she would approve, reminded her of the innocent man that she had met what seemed like so long ago.

She eased his uncertainty by leaning forward, and with a relieved breath, Alistair laid the chain around Salana's throat and closed the clasp; but it was only when she stepped forward against him and thanked him with a passionate kiss, that the onlookers finally began to clap.

It took the loud and jovial commencement of music to break the embracing pair apart, but they did not separate any more than they needed to, to walk. It was clear to all that they were deeply in love, a love almost as rare as a blessing from Andraste herself, and Salana and Alistair had that as well.

Lords and ladies took every opportunity to steal time to talk with the pair of monarchs before the banquet, and dance with them after. Through extravagant swirls of expensive fabric, sparkling embellishments and fake smiles, Alistair occasionally caught sight of his wife in the arms of other men, but he still felt no jealousy.

It did, however, bring Nathaniel to mind; Anora's child would now have to be six months old but there had been no real news from the three Grey Wardens on her trail, nor from any of the trackers Celene had supposedly employed.

He was almost afraid of what would happen when, if, Nathaniel arrived back in Denerium with Anora in shackles and a baby in his arms. The baby was his, and so he had an obligation to it whether he liked its mother or not, but at the same time there was Salana to consider; a living symbol of how he had been tricked by Anora would be bad enough, but an ever present reminder to Salana of her inability to carry a child to term?

That might prove to be too much.

" Excuse me Bann Eddelbrek," Alistair said politely, having managed to escape the clutches of some visiting luminary, and intercede with the man who had demanded the attentions of his wife for far too long. " But I am going to have to requisition my lovely queen."

" Of course your Majesty," Eddelbrek smiled; the man had plenty to smile about as well. Though Salana had prompted a conspiracy against her when she sent troops to protect farmland, instead of bolstering numbers within Amaranthine City as Bann Esmerelle had wanted, Esmerelle's demise during the failed assassination attempt upon Salana had handed Eddelbrek everything on a silver platter. With the conspirators dead, Salana had allowed him to take Esmerelle's position as Bann of Amaranthine City, and since she had not abandoned it to the darkspawn during the Mother's raid, there had been plenty there for him to inherit.

Salana let out a somewhat relieved breath as Alistair swept her in a graceful circle, his cheek lightly touching hers, but she knew that just because she was safe in his arms, that the rest of the guests weren't just waiting for the moment he let go.

" I think what we need is some fresh air," Alistair mused as if reading her mind, and effortlessly he turned them toward the balcony doors.

The night air was crisp, prickling across Salana's exposed skin, but she knew Alistair would keep her warm. The guards had closed the large glass doors behind the royal pair, so though those within the grand ballroom could still see them, they had more privacy than they had had all evening.

" Think anyone would notice if we just, dropped over the balcony and ran away together?" Salana inquired as Alistair guided her to the balustrade and wrapped his arms around her waist.

" I think it's a little late to elope," he pointed out, his chin resting against her shoulder, his lips lightly brushing her ear as he spoke. " Besides, you're supposed to be used to all of this," he went on lightly. " I'm the one who was raised sheltered in the Chantry."

" Oh far too much has transpired for you to play the sheltered card," she chuckled, giving him a nudge in the ribs with her elbow. " And besides having seen you fight, among other things, I'm sure that Duncan taught you some bad habits."

" That man was a noble gentleman," Alistair sniffed with mock indignation.

" No one with an accent that sensual could possibly be _that_ innocent," she grinned, and Alistair promptly turned her around, a mild frown twisting his eyebrows at funny angles.

" You thought his accent was _sensual_?" he perked. " Because, I could speak with an accent if I wanted to."

Salana just smirked at him.

" Oh I see, you're just winding me up," he huffed. " And all because I won't elope with you is that it?"

Salana opened her mouth to explain, but both she and Alistair looked sharply back through the glass into the ballroom when the sound of shouting caught their attention. When all eight guards standing along the inside of the ballroom's full length windows unsheathed their swords and left their posts, both Alistair and Salana simultaneously reached for their own.

" I knew I should have been allowed to wear my armor," Salana grumbled, feeling especially useless in all that dainty material.

" Who would dare attack the palace _tonight_ of all nights?" Alistair growled, moving back in through the glass doors, before beginning to weave through the crowd with Salana right behind him.

" Get your hands off me!" came a woman's voice from outside the double doors. " I am personal friends of the king and queen and they wouldn't be happy if they knew you were man-handling me like this!"

" Oh no," Alistair dropped, his shoulders slumping.

" It couldn't be," Salana blinked, and the guard standing closest to her turned his head.

" Majesties?"

" Open the doors," Alistair instructed, and the man complied, revealing a number of palace guards struggling with a slim brunette, her pale, golden eyes flashing with warning.

" Ahh, Alistair," the woman smiled salaciously, ceasing her struggling and lolling her head back a little. " Be a dear and call off the hounds?"

" Morrigan," Salana exhaled, neither she or Alistair giving the soldiers instructions to release her, much to her disdain.

" I'm not allowed to come and wish the Maker's Example many happy returns on her birthday?" the maleficar perked innocently, making eye contact with Salana in a pointed fashion, before moving her gaze to Alistair.

" Let her go," Alistair said after another rather tense moment, and Morrigan corrected the positioning of her clothing before flashing that disarming smile, beneath which the king knew all kinds of ulterior motives lurked.

" Stand down," Salana nodded to the rest of the guards, and they returned their weapons to their sides. " Please," she went on, turning back to her guests with a bright smile of her own. " Continue to enjoy yourselves, the night is still young."

The crowd, however, watched both the king and queen move out into the corridor until the doors closed in behind them.

" Well, isn't this a happy reunion?" Morrigan grinned. " Though I honestly can't believe they let _you_ be king," she went on, shaking her head as she now looked from Alistair to Salana. " _Or_ that you married him. Whatever happened to that lovely Antivan fellow?"

" How did you even get in here?" Alistair puzzled.

" Well I told the guards at the gates that I was on the guest list," she explained conversationally. " But they insisted that I show them my invitation which, I assume, just got lost somewhere between here and… me."

" That doesn't explain how you got past them," Alistair pointed out, motioning that she move through the indicated door into an empty room, Salana following.

" Well, when you can shape shift into a giant spider, you're not especially concerned with walls you know?" Morrigan answered cheerfully.

The door closed, and Salana beat Alistair to the next question.

" Not that we're not_ thrilled_ to see you Morrigan," she frowned lightly, though she was trying not to. " If I remember correctly, part of our arrangement was that we never come looking for you…"

" Right, and you haven't, which was very sporting of you," Morrigan chirped.

" Which," Alistair picked up. " Suggested that we weren't ever going to see you again?"

" Oh Alistair, you are a simple creature, hmm or is that an insult to simple creatures?"

" Morrigan," Salana leveled. " As much as I'd like to believe you're just here to wish me a happy birthday, why are you really here?"

" Well," Morrigan began, and Alistair pre-empted her winding up to some elaborate, convoluted story filled with all manner of twists and turns and snide remarks about his manhood.

" The clearer you make your answer, the sooner you can get what you want and leave," he told her bluntly, but this did nothing to dampen her smile.

" Mmm, maybe you _have_ taught him a thing or two," she grinned at Salana, before beginning again. " I recently heard that the Tevinter Imperium discovered an ancient artifact of significant power."

" How significant?" Alistair scowled.

" Oh," she smirked, narrowing her eyes on him. " _Very_ significant, so significant in fact, that I'm confident you definitely don't want this in the hands of the Imperium, after all, they were responsible for bringing about the first blight."

" What is it, and why would _you_ care if the Imperium has it?" Salana inquired.

" It's rumored to be a key," Morrigan answered. " But not just _any_ key. This key opens the doors to the gates of the Black City."

Both Alistair and Salana just stared at Morrigan for several long moments.

" Both of you had better just calm down, or Alistair is sure to wet himself," the apostate sniffed sarcastically.

" You're kidding aren't you?" Alistair dropped, finally remembering to blink.

" Known for my witty repartee as I am… no," Morrigan replied.

" The key to the Black City in the hands of the fools who corrupted it in the first place?" Salana thought out loud, her voice expressing just how horrifying that idea was.

" That's what I'm saying," Morrigan nodded enthusiastically. " And of course when I found out, I knew that _you_ would want to do something about it."

" Riiiiight, out of the goodness of your, wait no that can't be right," Alistair noted. " What do _you_ expect to get out of this?"

" Alistair, such cynicism," Morrigan chided, those haunting eyes glittering mischievously. " What _I_ get out of this, is the knowledge that those Tevinter morons don't go meddling with power they clearly have no idea how to wield."

" But you do," Salana prompted.

" Oh now I never said that, but don't confuse me for someone with no interest in what secrets the Black City might hold."

" No chance of that," Alistair dropped.

Before Morrigan could continue, there was a knock on the door.

" Enter," Alistair said curtly, expecting it to be one of his soldiers. It was, however, Eamon, who had met Morrigan before, even if only really in passing.

" Pardon the interruption Majesties," he said politely. " But some of your guests are readying to retire."

" Tomorrow morning, before we leave," Alistair declared, addressing Morrigan as he offered his wife his arm. " We'll discuss this further."

Morrigan didn't seem all that fussed and just gave a shrug.

" I'll be here, round abouts," she smiled, and there was no doubting that she would be.

* * *

Quiet had finally settled upon the palace, and completely exhausted, Linette moved down the corridor towards the royal residence. As beautiful as the gown that Salana had loaned to her for the evening had been, she had been exceptionally relieved to slip back into her much more comfortable livery.

The king and queen had retired, also looking very weary, and so Linette tiptoed quietly across the antechamber and slipped into the queen's dressing room through the side entrance. As she settled the dress over a naked mannequin, smoothing the soft satin and lacing the bodice at the back, something made her pause.

The sound was faint, muffled, but it was there, and it caused a frown to crease the woman's brow. Despite her own fatigue, this was one sound that she could never ignore.

At first glance the bathing chamber appeared to be empty, especially in the dimness, but as Linette moved inward, the light from the candelabra she carried touched a set of bare feet.

" Your Majesty!" she hissed, rushing forward to crouch before the huddled woman, who looked instantly embarrassed and appalled at being discovered sobbing in the dark. " Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

Clearly she was not all right, with her knees drawn up to her chest and her nightgown pulled around her. Angry at herself, she scrubbed her face with the back of her hands like a child, and tried to answer before the next gulping breath shook her body.

" How can I tell him?" she gasped, barely even feeling her attendant's hands as they tried to warm hers. " Linette, how?"

" How can you tell him what?" Linette scowled, and the queen's shuddering stopped as she fixed her swimming eyes on the other woman's face.

" What name shall I give this one?" Salana whispered thickly, tears dripping from the point of her chin. " And how big… should I make the pyre?"

" Oh," Linette exhaled, as Salana hung her head. " Perhaps this time will be different."

" Both times before, I have heard this small voice in my dreams," the queen wept, dropping her forehead against Linette's hands. " And every night, it gets more, and more, quiet, until… until… what am I supposed to do? Stay away from Alistair? Not let him touch me?"

" His Majesty loves you," Linette assured her, brushing her hair back. " He does not blame you for this."

" The Divine is right," Salana sobbed. " I am a fraud."

" No," Linette hissed, but Salana continued.

" What example am I of the Maker, who wails for this fate He imposes upon me? Have I not said seek no reward? Have I not said sacrifice? And yet I cannot see any worth is this, I cannot see anything but someone who has served, and given, and given, and yet still, _still,_ He reaches within me and, and rips from my womb what happiness I would have for myself and my king."

Morrigan's reappearance had also reminded her that Alistair had fathered not one, but _two _children inside of two years, and it was salt ground into an already gaping wound.

" Why does…?" she began again, but she could not possibly finish that sentence without giving Alistair away.

When she looked up, Linette's heart broke; Salana's eyes were wide, open windows through which the lady in waiting could see to her very center, far beneath the untouchable, stalwart, unbreakable exterior that the wider world knew her for. Naked and bleeding, the queen was being torn between the expectations of those who had placed her upon a towering pedestal, and her human soul that felt as anyone would in her position; why was one who had given so much, punished so harshly?

" What happens," Salana croaked thickly. " When they see what a hypocrite I am?" When they realise that I cannot live by my own words? If I am hope, then what will become of Thedas when they see I have none?"

Linette wanted to be able to tell her queen that Thedas would never see, but she could not; though there was no doubt in her mind that Salana was the Maker's Example, the debate remained as to whether she was herself divine. Linette saw a woman, albeit a noble woman, burdened by the kind of responsibilities that could easily crush entire armies of battle hardened men; eventually, despite her best intentions, she would break, and the consequences for the world would be grave.

Perhaps that would be the Maker's final test.

" Promise me that you will not tell his Majesty," Salana hissed, gripping Linette's arms suddenly, panic flashing brightly across her face.

" His Majesty wants to support you," Linette reasoned. " He is a Grey Warden also, the taint is a weight he must also carry."

" Linette!" Salana gasped, a queen, begging. " Promise me that you will not tell him."

Linette inhaled a slow breath. She knew that Salana's reasons for wanting to keep this from her husband were not selfish, but also that her desire to carry the secret of her ultimately doomed third pregnancy, was a prime example of why in the end, Salana would buckle.

" Of course you have my word, your Majesty," Linette smiled sadly, gently brushing moist strands of hair from her lady's face. " Come on," she then urged. " Let's clean you up and get you back to bed."


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

**Deal with the devil**

Salana had slept a heavy, dreamless sleep when she had returned to bed, but rose just as the first light of day was creeping above the horizon. Though the morning was already warm, there was always a chill in the sepulture, that no manner of clothing could protect against.

She did not want to wallow, the Divine had been right to a point. Salana couldn't change the taint of her blood or Alistair's, nor could she stop it from poisoning the symbol of love they planted within her.

" Soon I will bring you another brother or sister," she whispered softly to the urns of her existing two children. " I pray you bring each other greater comfort than your passing affords me."

She inhaled a slow breath as she attempted to find some solidity to the ground beneath her feet, and then finished with her own words now taken as guidance from the Maker.

" Denial of fact, breeds false hope, And false hope may blind us, To what greater possibilities, Lie just beyond our grasp, If only we have the strength, To reach for them." (Acceptance 1:2)

" I _see_," Morrigan perked, sitting atop the entrance archway, dropping down only after Salana had passed beneath it and exited the tomb. " The woman at the very center of the Chantric world, denied children by the very deity she's supposed to represent; and people wonder why I don't believe."

" Giant spider," Salana sighed, rubbing the back of her neck lightly.

" You know, you should listen to yourself," Morrigan nodded. " I mean, take your own advice, or maybe you won't see the possibility that is staring _you_ right in the face."

To emphasise her point, Morrigan stopped her slow circle before Salana, trapping her gaze.

" Which is?" Salana inquired, though the very idea of asking Morrigan for help rang every alarm bell in her mind.

" It wouldn't be the first time I'd given nature a little helping hand," Morrigan smiled easily, the gentle motion of her hands as she spoke helping to illustrate just how simple she thought the solution was. " Granted it might be a _little_ more difficult given you're both Grey Wardens, but my mother's notes have increased my depth of magical knowledge quite considerably."

" You could…" Salana began, and Morrigan's smile broadened as she saw it dawn on the other woman just what she was offering.

" It's unlikely that I could drive the taint from you completely, but I am absolutely certain I could create some sort of filter, that would protect your precious cargo from all that nasty darkspawn filth."

Salana swallowed; nothing came without a price.

" A child for Alistair and I, in exchange for…"

" The Tevinter key of course," Morrigan affirmed what Salana had already suspected. " Isn't it convenient how we both have something the other wants?"

" I still don't understand why you don't just retrieve the key yourself," Salana frowned.

" Yes, obviously that makes a _lot_ more sense than me coming here again," Morrigan agreed. " But let's just say that I have a feeling there are only a few people in this world capable of actually holding that key."

" A feeling?" Salana prompted a little impatiently, and Morrigan grimaced a little, more at the recollection of what she had witnessed, than the queen's irritation.

" Let's just say, that I've seen more than a few Tevinter mages meet an ugly end attempting to pick it up," she mused darkly, waving her hands about for a few seconds as if to dispel the image from her mind. " And why wouldn't it? Those incompetent mages broke the city in the first place, but you on the other hand…"

" … am the Maker's Example," Salana finished.

" Who, if not the Maker's chosen one, would He entrust with the key to His dilapidated kingdom?" Morrigan inquired, but her tone was triumphant.

" You don't even believe in the Maker," Salana pointed out.

" I don't," Morrigan agreed. " But the important thing here is, that _you _do; and let's just say for the sake of argument that your belief is enough to make this phenomenal cosmic being _actually_ exist, then rumor has it _He_ also believes in _you_."

The maleficar gave a rather dismissive shrug.

" If it doesn't work I have hardly lost anything," she noted, even if failure meant that Salana had not been protected from whatever wrath was trapped within that key. " In fact, in light of this discovery, I have actually come to rather like the whole Maker tale," she went on conversationally. " I mean, there really is just something so sardonic about a god who gives life to his children, only to tell them if they don't worship him blindly then He'll cast them into Oblivion for all eternity."

Morrigan tilted her head a little, like that would help her gauge Salana's reaction better.

" Really, that would be like you spawning an entire brood, and then beating them if they refused to walk, even if as mere infants they lacked the ability to, wouldn't it?" she perked. " Or maybe it's more like the practice of slavery you're all so proud to stand against here in Ferelden," she continued.

" I don't," Salana began, but frowned, not because Morrigan was sacrilegiously likening the Maker to someone who beat babies, but rather because she actually had a point.

" I understand," Morrigan nodded soberly, her entire demeanor changed. " The entire world is watching you, and if you so much as belch a discordant tone, the established order of things may spiral into chaos; but, you're already two for three your Majesty," she said, glancing back at the doors of the sepulture. " How much more can your heart bear before it and all that has been invested in it, is irreparably broken?"

" I can't, just…" Salana muttered, and then pulled herself together. " I need time to think about this."

" Mmm well, I suppose I've got nothing better to do than indulge your royal hospitality," Morrigan chirped. " But, every day you wait, those nasty Tevinter mages are poking and prodding at that key, and that itty-bitty bun in your oven gets closer to joining its siblings."

The incline of Salana's head told Morrigan that for now at least, the discussion was over; but just as the taint had already begun to eat away at the child fighting to grow within Salana's body, Morrigan knew that the idea that it could now survive was scratching at the resolve in Salana's mind.

* * *

Morrigan didn't offer Alistair the deal when he called for their meeting. Salana could see that the other woman was amused that she hadn't told her husband about the possibility that they could actually have a baby together. She could almost hear the apostate sifting through the reasons she had chosen not to.

" We will send someone to investigate," Alistair declared finally. " But Salana and I have a birthday tour to get underway, and even if we didn't, the last place that she should be going is the Tevinter Imperium."

He narrowed his eyes, squinting as he spoke of them, and looked from side to side like someone might jump out and ambush them.

" I doubt they'd need much of a reason to add her to the list of the Maker's prophets they've burned at the stake," he added.

" Oh but she _isn't_ a prophet," Morrigan pointed out, as Salana was most insistent on that point.

" You know what I'm talking about," he huffed. " And honestly, I _still_ don't really know why you thought we would just leave our responsibilities to go chasing ancient history with you."

" As always Alistair you fail to see the point," Morrigan sighed in an exaggerated fashion. " Ancient history won't be ancient history if they figure out how to work that key."

Salana remained quiet, though she could tell that very soon Morrigan was going to give her a shove that would force her to weigh into the debate.

" Hence why I've conceded to sending someone to investigate," Alistair glowered. " But Salana and I are going to enjoy a pleasant ride around the kingdom where nothing threatens, attacks or tries to possess us, and I'm sorry if that doesn't fit into your plans."

Morrigan then looked to Salana, but Alistair had to make an amendment.

" Actually I'm not _really_ all that sorry at all," he admitted.

" Alistair," Salana began slowly, that tip-toeing tone that told him he probably wasn't going to like what she was going to add.

" You're not seriously considering this are you?" he blinked, for the moment more dumbfounded at that possibility, rather than angry that she appeared to be disagreeing with his stance in front of Morrigan, who already thought him a dim-wit.

" I," she began with a frown, and Morrigan just kept smiling, casually crossing her arms over her chest. " Think that the ramifications of such a discovery in the hands of the Imperium bears further discussion."

" Oh I don't want to start a domestic here," Morrigan piped up. " But if you're going to have one anyway…"

" I don't suppose you'd know what a mature discussion over a disagreement looks like would you?" Alistair sniffed.

" Says the alter boy raised by, what was it? Oh yes, flying dogs," Morrigan smirked, and Salana grimaced and pinched the bridge of her nose.

" We'll talk about it Morrigan," she said in a firm, but tired voice, and Alistair did not pursue his prepared defense for either his true upbringing, or the light-hearted fictional story he had shared with Salana when he had thought no one else was listening. " Right now we have to prepare for departure."

" Where are we headed first?" Morrigan inquired, and Alistair just rolled his eyes.

* * *

It was different now, compared to preparing for weeks of travel as it had been for Salana at the beginning of the blight. All she really had to do was show up and everything was waiting for her.

After Linette had finished helping her into her armor, not that she really needed the help, Salana stood a moment by herself in the royal bedchamber. She did not want to hide anything from Alistair, and yet at the same time she wanted to protect him from the hurt that she felt; perhaps that was another lesson Leliana needed to record, or maybe she did not really want to preach that one could sometimes justify keeping secrets from the ones they loved, those who loved them in return.

" Mmm, I bet you're actually glad to get back in that," Alistair declared, beaming at her from the antechamber doors. " Though I must say I have rather gotten to like way you swan around in those soft, clingy gowns."

" I do_ not_ swan," she snorted, moving into the dressing room to lift the Veshialle from its stand and secure it to her back; it was terrible, she thought suddenly, that she felt more comfortable, more like herself geared up for battle than she did wearing the finest apparel that gold could buy.

" I'd argue but you have this way of always winning," Alistair grumbled, but he was not being serious, not until she turned around and leveled her gaze at him. " Ahh, what did I do this time?"

" Nothing," she reassured him. " But… Morrigan…"

" She has some nerve showing up out of the blue like that," he scoffed. " She may not believe in the Maker, but there is no way that she could miss just how dangerous it would be for you to go to Tevinter."

" She said that she could give _us_ a child," she just blurted out; maybe if she said it fast enough it would sting less.

" You what?" Alistair blinked, then shook his head. " Tell me you're not going to ask me to sleep with her _again._"

" No," she frowned. " But the reason I disagreed with you before, is because she said that in exchange for retrieving the key, she would use her blood magic to make it possible for me to carry our child to term."

Originally it had been their lives on the line, and the idea of having to live without one another that had led them to risk involving blood magic in their lives. The secret that they kept was one that could quite possibly destroy them both and all they had built, and so the notion of resorting to that forbidden practice again was one that seemed to darken the room.

" I…" Alistair began, but he didn't quite know where to go with the rest of his sentence.

He wanted he and Salana to have a child so desperately, thought that it was the one thing still missing in their lives, but trusting Morrigan was not something that he wanted to do unless it was absolutely necessary.

" I know," Salana admitted. " It's not something that… It rattles round inside my head along with all the reasons why it's such a terrible idea and then… I hear the echo of those tiny, fading whispers in my dreams and… I'm not saying we should, I'm just saying that we shouldn't…"

" …categorically say no," Alistair finished, and Salana exhaled, grimacing like she was in pain, and it was mirrored in her husband.

Embracing while wearing armor was not an easy thing, and so he settled for his hand against her cheek. " We have time to think about it," he told her gently. " If what Morrigan says is true, not that we can really believe anything that witch says, then the Imperium is unable to even touch the key. I want to know that we have exhausted all other ways of getting her what she wants, before I even entertain the thought of you going anywhere near the people who destroyed Andraste. They have to know now, that your influence over the people is spreading to the every corner of Thedas," he continued. " And I have no doubt that they would eagerly grasp any opportunity to remove you as a threat to what little power they're clinging to."

" I am not a delicate flower to be shielded behind…" she began, but he cut her off.

" I know you're not," he affirmed. " _Everyone_, knows you're not, but that doesn't mean that as your husband, as the man who loves you, I won't do everything within my power to protect you."

" I just, want this for you so much, for us both," she smiled sadly, and he kissed her lightly before taking her hand.

" I know," he agreed. " But I'm not sure I want it enough to risk losing you."

* * *

No one really knew why Morrigan was joining the royal procession that left Denerium late morning. Both Eamon and Wynne, who remained in the capital, expressed their surprise that she had come back after all this time, but they could not possibly have known why, or why it might be so stressful for the royal pair.

In the city they left but a handful of guests from outside the kingdom, but among this small number was the Divine. Her gift to Salana was funding for a new cathedral, that after much discussion with city planners, had gotten the go ahead.

Salana, however, did not much like the idea of a place of worship in her name, Morrigan's take on the Maker swimming around in her mind.

" _It does seem unfair,"_ she thought to herself. _" Why do we accept it?"_

She had seen enough to believe that the Maker was real, her faith structured around having seen the Black City with her own eyes, even if from afar, having spoken with Andraste's spirit, having survived all that she had survived; but what of those people who gave to the Chantry out of fear that their mortal soul would be cursed to wander the Oblivion if they did not supplicate? What of those who had followed the instruction of people who had never themselves known the actual words of the prophet? Salana knew these earthly people were not without vice, for even she, now revered, had chosen forbidden magic over the death of someone she held most dear.

Could she again? Would she?

She did not believe that infiltrating the Tevinter Imperium would be any more dangerous than any of her other exploits, even if it was true that they had no love for the Chantry. It would take weeks for the spies that Alistair had sent out, to return with any information regarding the key, and by that time who knew what the Tevinter mages would have discovered or done with it. Even if she and Alistair did not take Morrigan up on her offer, perhaps the fate of an item of such gravity should not have been left in the hands of less experienced adventurers.

She caught herself, as Alistair glanced sideways at her and smiled. His eyes reflected that he too was never far from thoughts on their quandary, but Salana did not want to fall any further into the trap of justifying the use of blood magic, just because she had faced meaner enemies than an empire of heathens.

Especially not for personal gain.

Each night they camped on the way to Amaranthine, they lay against each other, but did not engage in further discussion; really there wasn't all that much to add and no amount of time would change that.

In the darkness of her dreams, that little voice cried out for her to save it, bringing back the physical and emotional agony of her previous failures. Tiny hands grappled for her to draw it out of the shadows, to pull it back from the precipice of destruction, but Salana saw herself standing there gripped by fear and indecision.

When she woke it was still night, and Alistair was tossing and turning, murmuring and mumbling beside her. Even in the dimness she could see that his brow was creased, and Salana wondered if he was having the same dream that stalked her.

Lightly she brushed her fingertips along his hairline, across his forehead and down his left cheek, and the king fell still. She wished her nightmares were so easily wrested into submission, but was glad that she could bring him some comfort at least.

Unsettled and feeling a little nauseous, she slipped from beneath the covers and exited the royal tent as she coiled her robe around her. The sky was clear and the moon hung low over the horizon, lighting her face brightly. It was the kind of sky that promised a perfect day, but perfect days were few and far between.

As Salana inhaled a lungful of clean, crisp air, she found the tranquility broken by the distant sound of galloping hooves. A pair of soldiers appeared from around the back of the royal tent, moving along on their patrol, but joined their queen in looking in the direction of the sound.

" Riders," she mused, pulling her robe more tightly in around her. " Mmm three or four."

" Majesty," one of the two soldiers nodded, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword, but Salana did not go and hide in her tent like his tone suggested she should.

Instead she remained where she was and her guards shifted before her, waiting for the riders to come into full view.

" A dwarf," Salana noted, though she could not quite make out any other features of the riders. A dwarf in Ferelden was not actually so strange, especially not since Salana's involvement in restoring order to the ruling class in Orzamar, but riding at speed was not something the dwarves were known to be good at.

" It's…" she then exhaled, and suddenly the pounding of her heart beat so thunderously it drowned out the clattering of hooves; she did not finish her sentence however, and simply stared up at the mounted dwarf as he reigned his horse in.

" Grey warden," one of the two Ferelden soldiers noted, but traded glances with his compatriot when the dwarf and their queen continued peering at each other.

" Oghren," Salana said finally, her voice quiet and thick, and awkwardly the dwarf dismounted.

" Commander," Oghren nodded seriously, though he was well aware of her greater titles.

" Please wake the king," Salana prompted, looking to the soldiers ever so briefly, and they complied.

The queen's gaze swept across the trio, but the other two were not who she thought they might be, perhaps, hoped they might be. Oghren clearly knew what she was thinking, and answered her unspoken question.

" We came by Vigil's Keep," he declared.

" We?" she perked.

" Oghren?" Alistair questioned as he emerged from his tent, but he moved immediately to Salana's side. " I trust you come with good news?"

" It's good news that I won't have to listen to that insipid wench's whining any more, your Majesty," the dwarf snorted.

Salana swallowed, and Alistair slipped his arm around her waist.

" We found her beggin' for a handout in one of those Tevinter Chantries on the border of the Imperium," Oghren continued. " Caused a right scene when they refused, Shale didn't leave much of them in tact, but it did give us a chance to get a hold of her control rod."

" And…" Alistair began, but he cut himself off; Salana, however, finished for him.

" … the child?"

Oghren inclined his head.

" A girl," he specified. " Bloody thing never stops crying."

" With Anora for a mother I'm not surprised," Alistair dropped sourly.

" She's under guard at the Keep," came the last of Oghren's report, but it was not spoken to Alistair.

He studied the Warden Commander's face for her reaction to it all, to the idea of her husband's child, to the woman who betrayed her… to the return of Nathaniel Howe.

But she gave him nothing, hiding behind glassy eyes that reflected only moonlight.

" What is all the commotion?" Morrigan grumbled, joining the group. " Oh look, it's that disagreeable beard and the dwarf attached to it."

" We'll I'll be," Oghren snorted, eying Morrigan up and down… and up again.

" Dawn will arrive soon," Alistair declared, before Morrigan could start questioning Oghren's arrival. " There seems little point in returning to our beds for just a couple of hours…"

" I could think of a reason or two," Oghren smirked, still ogling Morrigan, and she just smirked back at him.

" Not if you were the last naval height man in Thedas," she replied sweetly, before looking to Alistair. " Are we going somewhere?"

" Vigil's Keep," he answered curtly. " There is justice in need of serving there."


	4. Chapter 4

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: I dedicate this chapter to both Harmkhis and Griffonsplight, both of whom expressed a 'vehement interest' in Anora's fate._

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**And should you perish**

Nathaniel had grown more than tired of hearing Anora snarl and snap like a rabid mabari, and so he left her in the Keep dungeon to wallow in her misery and viperous hatred.

Oghren had been gone two days on his way to Denerim and the sun has risen over the third. Each moment that passed by, his stomach twisted tighter, and never more so when he heard the crying of Anora's child. Seneschal Varel had told him of Salana's unsuccessful pregnancies and this would surely be salt to her wounds.

There was both joy and angst in the promise of seeing her again, knowing that she and Alistair had been inseparable all the time he and the others had been traversing Thedas. There was no doubt he had accepted his place and hers, but that was not going to make their reunion any easier.

" Is this really necessary?" Shale's distinctive voice inquired, the golem's tone clearly expressing exasperation. The crying of a baby followed, and Nathaniel turned into the room to see what was going on.

" For whatever reason the child has bonded with you," a gnarled old woman grumped, climbing up on a chair in order to fasten a couple of straps over Shale's shoulders, straps that held a soft, padded pouch against its chest.

" And what if I should sneeze?" Shale argued, as a servant carried the infant from its cot, and the tiny child was slipped into the pouch and secured there. " I may very well pop its squishy little head by accident."

" You don't breathe," Nathaniel pointed out from the doorway. " How do you expect to sneeze? Besides," he went on, pushing away from the doorjamb, pointing as he did to indicate the child and the fact that she had stopped wailing. " She likes you."

" _It_ is incapable of controlling its most basic bodily functions," Shale pointed out almost sourly. " It is constantly leaking, is it sure that is normal?"

" Believe it or not, you too were once that small and that vulnerable," Nathaniel said.

" I don't understand why it and its two-faced mother is still alive ," Shale went on, looking down a little to find that the infant now appeared to be sleeping. " When _It_ arrives, I doubt It is going to want to see them either."

" The king and queen will decide the fate of Anora and the child," Nathaniel declared firmly.

" It does not have an opinion?" Shale asked bluntly. " Actually, I know it does."

" My opinion on the matter is irrelevant," Nathaniel replied, looking back at the door as another figure appeared there.

" Forgive the intrusion Commander," the Warden said. " Seneschal Varel wished me to inform you of the arrival of the king and queen."

Nathaniel inhaled a quick breath and gave himself away, much to Shale's satisfaction.

" I may be made of stone, but I'm not blind," the golem declared gruffly, disturbing the infant with the shrug of massive shoulders. " Uh," Shale grunted, waggling a granite finger in the child's face. " Choochy coo?"

Not even this piece of comedy could distract Nathaniel from the sudden roar in his ears or the tense of his lungs. Shale did not get to see how well he hid this from his expression, however, as the Warden Commander, one of two in Ferelden, exited and began toward the throne room.

The tension was palpable when he arrived, the air so thick he found moving through it almost physically uncomfortable, and the sight of Salana didn't really make it that much better.

It had always been her plan to bring Anora's baby back to Ferelden, back to Alistair, as it was heir to the throne after all; he had taken on her mission so that she could be who the world needed her to be.

Everything.

And she _was_ everything, to everyone.

Even Tevinter wanted a piece of her, so the rumors he brought back with him said.

" Your Majesties," he declared finally, bowing in the proper fashion, and he made a point of making eye contact with Alistair first, then Salana, forcing himself to. " It was fortuitous you were already on the road."

" Indeed," Alistair nodded, an easy smile on his lips. " It is good to see you back home safely."

" Shale will be out momentarily," Nathaniel went on. " It seems that the golem has a talent for…"

" I'm warning it, fleshy little bag of guts," Shale's voice rumbled, a sound accompanied by the creature's unmistakable, stomping footfalls. " It will end up a bloody smear…"

Alistair and Salana blinked in shock.

" You gave the baby to Shale?" Salana blurted, her face a deep crevice of concern, and she began quickly in that direction.

She nearly ran into Shale as the golem entered through the double doors, and stumbled to a halt at what she saw.

" I'm imagining that," Alistair dropped in disbelief.

" Believe it or not," Nathaniel explained. " The only one who can get Caila to stop crying, is Shale."

" Caila?" Alistair blinked.

" Yes," Nathaniel nodded. " If I didn't know better, I would suggest it is Anora's way of honoring Cailan, but I think we both know that woman doesn't understand the concept of honor."

" Come on, give her to me," Salana blustered, clearly concerned for the infant's well-being, strapped to the chest of a golem, though the small child didn't seem at all fussed.

" As much as I would like to comply, believe me," Shale declared. " I cannot."

" Let her have the child Shale," Nathaniel said, as he and Alistair drew closer, and Shale stretched out solid arms, giving Salana plenty of room to lift the baby from her sling.

" You have the control rod," Alistair noted and Nathaniel nodded.

" I thought it best not to destroy it until we returned to Ferelden," he said. " But I leave that matter to you now."

The crying child drew their attention once more, and the two men turned their focus to Salana as she settled the baby in her arms. The infant, so named Caila, shrieked, just as Nathaniel had suggested she would, and the queen frowned fiercely.

" What is that awful racket?" Morrigan muttered, shaking her head as she, Anders and Linette joined them in the throne room. " Ahh, it has it its mother's lungs I hear."

" Perhaps for the sake of peace it should remain strapped to my chest like a squashy meat shield?" Shale offered.

" No," Salana scowled, rocking the baby back and forth to no avail. " Hmm perhaps it also has its mother's disdain for me."

" It's a baby Salana," Nathaniel pointed out informally. " And far too young to know anything of hate. I'm sure she will warm to you in time."

Morrigan watched as Salana struggled with her inability to console the wailing child, finding her assumption amusing that it would simply happen because she was who she was. If the queen persevered, however, and somehow managed to bond with the illegitimate offspring of her husband and the woman who had sold her to her enemies, it was going to put an irritating dent in Morrigan's plan.

" Maybe she knows you're about to stab her mother in the face?" the apostate offered, and Anders and Linette both looked at her sideways with raised eyebrows.

" Speaking of," Alistair prompted, looking away from Salana to Nathaniel.

" She's in the dungeon," he responded curtly. " She knows you are here."

" I am going to do this myself," the king declared, and Salana finally looked away from the flushed, plump cheeks of her husband's daughter.

There was no expectation in Alistair's eyes, but it was a given that she would accompany him to witness Anora's final moments.

" My Lady," Linette prompted, and with a shallow nod, Salana handed the baby to her; it continued to cry.

She sighed as she turned with Alistair to leave. In a perfect world she would have instantly bonded with the child and it would have solved all of their problems; it was possible for a true parent to not be in any way biologically related to a child, the true measure of a mother in the care and nurturing given, not in blood.

Salana missed Morrigan's smirk of satisfaction, but Linette did not.

" You look happy with yourself," she noted, but Morrigan lifted her hand to her ear to indicate that she couldn't hear her over the screaming baby.

" Sorry?" she said, much louder than she needed to. " I can't hear you!"

* * *

" How do you want to handle this?" Salana asked Alistair quietly, following closely behind him through the Keep corridors toward the dungeon stairs.

" I thought I'd just march in and cut her down," he replied flippantly, but he was using dark humor to try and obscure his ill ease; he was not, after all, a violent person by nature, and certainly took no joy in death.

" I have another solution," she offered, awkwardly digging her hand beneath the collar of her armor to retrieve something that had been hanging around her neck, right beside Alistair's mother's pendant.

It was a small, green, glass bottle about the thickness of a human finger and half as long, and as they passed another flare, Alistair could see that it contained a dark, viscous liquid.

" Darkspawn blood?" he surmised, and Salana nodded.

" That was the decision I made," she elaborated as she pulled it free and handed it to him. " Not that she truly deserves the chance for redemption."

" There is a chance she will survive, just as we did," he nodded, not seeming any more comfortable with that idea. " But knowing her, she is going to want to force our hands."

" I want this to be over," she said. " But…"

" … maybe as a Grey Warden she will actually come to understand all that she nearly undid?"

Salana nodded, and a smile returned to her lips; because of Anora, Alistair had nearly lost Salana in the most horrible way, not just in body, but in heart. There had been absolutely no room for latitude when it had come to Loghain, but that he was willing to still offer Anora the chance to learn from her mistakes, proved that he was the true master of his hate.

Patting his arm, Salana prompted him to enter the dungeon before her.

When they entered, Anora rose slowly from the cot she had been sitting on. She looked so much older than her true age, her face marked with weary shadows, her hair dull and her clothing plain; her condition was a far cry from the luxurious splendor that Alistair remembered her flaunting in Orlais.

" Where is Caila?" were the first words from her mouth, and for a moment she actually sounded genuinely concerned; but she spoiled it with the sharp curl of her lips as Alistair moved towards the bars.

" She will be well looked after," he told her plainly.

" Are you my executioner Alistair?" she inquired, drawing herself up, clutching for what remained of her nobility, clinging to the shreds and tatters of her dignity.

" Perhaps," he replied with a curt nod. " I come before you with a choice."

He held his hand through the bars and opened his fist to reveal the small bottle.

" Salana spared your life once, and to that I hold," he declared, otherwise unmoving as he continued in a much more reverent tone. " Join us brothers and sisters; join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn…"

" You've got to be joking," Anora spat, but Alistair pressed onward, for in this he believed, for this he lived.

" And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day we shall join you."

His hand remained outstretched, even after he had finished speaking, and his eyes met Anora's cold stare.

" This is more of a chance than you deserve," he told her plainly. " The last and only chance you have to prove that there is more to you than lies and petty schemes."

" I suppose you think you're being merciful?" she spat, glaring from his hand back to his face, not drawing any closer, and Alistair simply tipped his hand over. " Murder is still murder Alistair, how does this make you any different from what you accuse me of being?"

" Because I'm not you, Anora," Alistair pointed out. " You feed off your hate and it has twisted you into this ugly, despicable monster. I'm offering you the possibility of redemption, if it is the Maker's will."

" Save me the holier than thou, Alistair I _know_ you hate me," Anora chortled.

" You're right, I do," he admitted. " But I keep it close, to remind me of what I will never allow it to make me."

Anora sneered and looked over at Salana, who still had not moved from the dungeon door way.

" Has the Maker's other _whore_ nothing to say?" she spat, and finally Salana saw no more of the noblewoman that once had been.

" You will get no satisfaction from me Anora," Salana said calmly, inclining her head. " Drink the blood and take your chances with the Maker's judgment, or suffer ours and go the way of your father."

Alistair punctuated Salana's instructions by drawing his sword.

" Cowards," Anora hissed, shifting her feet as Alistair motioned the guard to unlock the cell, and as the king entered that confined space, she shuffled back. " Both of you, acting as if you've never done wrong."

She continued to snarl as Alistair stooped to pick up the vial of darkspawn blood, his sword in his other hand.

" If the world knew what you were _really _like, it would be _you_ facing death."

" We already did," Salana pointed out lightly. " And we stand now, because we are meant to."

" Drink the blood," Alistair instructed once more, holding it out to her, the point of his sword raised and drawn back in readiness.

Clearly desperate, Anora stared at her own mortality, and this option she had been given; this was not mercy! It was not fair, none of it was fair! She had been queen, and a good queen, and all she had ever done was do what she thought was best for Ferelden. Who was this bastard to call her a criminal? Who was this paltry fraud, who seemed to have conned the whole world into believing she was divine?

Who were _they_ to judge_ her_?"

How _DARE_ they?

For someone who appeared so ragged, Anora's lunge to the side and grapple for Alistair's wrist, was surprisingly agile. Alistair, however, had been in too many battles, preyed upon by too many assassins to be caught off guard by the likes of her, and his reflex was to push forward with his sword arm.

Though she had seen a hundred thousand gruesome deaths, Salana closed her eyes. Anora gurgled but she was unable inhale, unable to form words with the point of Duncan's sword impaling her through the throat, pinning her to the cold, stone wall. Alistair did not blink, remaining altogether unmoving as bloody ribbons began to spurt from around the blade, and slither beneath the collar of the woman's simple, grubby smock.

She was conscious and choking, but her hands now had no strength to fight off what she knew was her fatal blow. She had thought that in her final moments she would be proud, that she would stand fearless in the face of death, but as life began to leave her now, all Alistair saw in her wide, blue eyes, was absolute terror.

When the king finally stepped back, Anora fell forward, her forehead cracking loudly against the solid ground; but she was already half way to dead, oblivious to the fracturing of bone, as the last of her warmth pooled around her inelegantly slumped figure.

There was no satisfaction, not even any relief, and surprisingly Alistair was glad of that; perhaps that meant that what he had told her about his hate was true, that though he had indeed come to loathe her, he was not a creature that drew pleasure from brutal retribution.

" Varel can see to her pyre," Salana said softly from behind him, her fingers sliding up from the nape of his neck and lightly into his hair. " We are free of her now."

Alistair had to wonder if there was more in what Salana said than just the literal end of Anora Mac Tir; they were not entirely free of course, and would not be unless her daughter followed her to the grave. It would be at best a compromise, and Alistair could not, would not ever expect Salana to simply accept Caila as her own child, but he had seen that she had been willing, at least, to try.

* * *

" So, it's Nanny Shale now?" Anders smirked, for though Linette had taken Caila to cry elsewhere, the sling remained fastened to the golem's bulky chest.

Shale narrowed, beady, glowing eyes at the mage, and did not need to actually say anything to get the man to squirm.

" I was just thinking though," Anders continued, but was hedging away as he spoke. " This could be a new calling for you, you know?"

" You don't want to lend me that control rod do you Commander?" Oghren inquired of Nathaniel, who was staring out the window at the bright day. " Sparkle _Smear_ has a nice ring to it don't you think?"

" Sorry to keep you all waiting," Salana said briskly when she entered, Linette following dutifully behind her.

She had stripped away her armor for something more practical; she was, after all, still the Arlessa of Amaranthine, and since the chances of the now well established Grey Warden outpost being attacked were slim, she felt safe enough wearing one of many gowns Linette had insisted on bringing with them.

In all the time that Nathaniel had known her, he had never seen Salana in a dress, let alone one specifically designed for a queen. Celene had been a vision to behold sitting upon her illuminated throne, but not even that angelic recollection compared to the Blessed One he saw before him.

" You're drooling lad," Oghren hissed quietly, elbowing Nathaniel in the thigh.

" Shale," Salana smiled, couldn't help it with the baby pouch still attached. " We need to decide what to do about your control rod."

" _It_ needs to decide," Shale corrected. " I should have no say in the matter, for I did It a terrible disservice by aiding Its enemy's escape."

" Not your fault," she pointed out kindly. " I know that given a choice, you would have done everything in your power to bring Anora to justice. A matter now very much resolved."

" Oh good," Anders nodded emphatically. " So it's all over then?"

" That depends what you mean by _it_," Salana mused, glancing briefly to Nathaniel, who approached and handed her Shale's control rod. " I don't believe in slavery," she declared. " Tell me what you think I should do?"

" It should not destroy the control rod," Shale answered honestly. " As it saw, without one there is the chance that unscrupulous people may recreate it, and force their will upon me to unsavory ends."

" No one should be able to force their will upon you," Salana reasoned.

" Which is why _It_ should keep it," Shale said, tilting its head slightly to one side. " It is the only one that I trust to keep to Its word, and allow me autonomy over my actions."

" Mmm," Salana murmured, but finally, with a nod, she slipped the control rod into the bodice of her gown.

Oghren looked up at Nathaniel, and the man knew exactly what the dwarf was thinking about control rods and where they should be put.

" Don't say it," he warned, and then caught Salana's eyes. " I have a question about my position as Warden Commander," he said. " Considering it was only conferred to me by his Majesty in your absence."

" Do you have any objections to keeping the title?" she inquired lightly. " Maker knows that I don't have enough hours in the day or night to fulfill all my responsibilities, and you have more than shown that you are a capable leader, a dedicated Warden and a formidable darkspawn foe."

Nathaniel had prepared himself for this eventuality, though hearing it from Salana's lips felt so much more gratifying.

" You grew up here Nathaniel," Salana went on. " It seems only fitting that you take up the mantle of Arl that your father did not deserve… but you do."

" And Weisshaupt?" he prompted.

" If the Maker's Example wishes to surrender her position to a better man, then the First Warden will accept it," she grinned.

" Will you look at that," Oghren smirked and pointed. " The boy is blushing."

" The _Warden Commander_, is blushing," Salana corrected cheekily, and Nathaniel sighed.

" Can you not encourage him please?"

" Sorry," she chuckled, giving his shoulder a nudge. " That does, however, make _you_ my host, and I'm famished. What's for lunch?"

" You've no idea how long I've gone without a tasty nug," Oghren lamented.

" Bet you wished you'd treated him better now," Anders smirked.

" Why don't you two give Linette a tour of the Keep?" Nathaniel suggested, but it was clear to everyone, even Linette who had not been in Salana's service long enough to know of Nathaniel's feelings, that he was just trying to get Salana alone.

" Sure," Anders smiled, offering Linette his arm, which she had no choice but to take or appear rude.

" That's cute," Oghren snickered. " You two can compare outfits."

Salana watched them go with a smile, before turning to Nathaniel, who she found watching her.

" Anora?" he perked, but it was hardly what he _most_ wanted to say to her.

" Refused the Joining," she responded. " Though I did not really expect her to accept it."

" I cannot say that I am not glad to know that she will not be a Grey Warden," he nodded, clear restraint in his tone, and Salana finally acknowledged it. " You showed more mercy than I would have in offering it just the same."

" Thank you," she said quietly. " For _everything_."

It was a weak representation of all that she owed him, but all that she could manage without stepping too far.

" You know that thanks are unnecessary," he said, but there was a whole other conversation going on between their eyes.

They could not verbally express just how relieved they were to see each other well, nor say that they had missed the sound of each other's voices or the sight of their smile. Every muscle in his body ached to wrap itself around her, his senses cried out to inhale her scent, and the memory of wiping tears from her cheeks was a torturous contrast to the clean, bright blush that now colored them.

He knew the real reason that he had been so quick to go chasing after Anora, and it had not truly been to carry out Salana's will.

It just hurt to be near her, just as it hurt to be away.

" They're talking about you in the Imperium," he said seriously, daring to move just a little closer. " I'm concerned that they will attempt to quell the spread of the Maker's Example's new gospel in the same way they dealt with Andraste."

" You and everyone else," she nodded. " What else did you hear in Tevinter?"

Nathaniel narrowed his eyes.

" You ask but it sounds like _you_ have heard something."

" Mages unearthing a key to the Black City," she elaborated.

" Tevinter is full of apostates," he affirmed. " But they must be keeping that little gem quiet."

" Hmm," she murmured, looking out the window, but Nathaniel moved to block her view.

" Wait, you're not actually thinking about going up there to investigate it yourself are you?" he scowled. " Tevinter? Are you crazy?"

" Alistair sent a stealth contingent to investigate," she told him gently, but that did not placate him.

" You _are_ considering it!" he hissed. " Salana you're…"

" Please don't _you_ start with the 'you're this and you're that' business," she sighed. " This gilded cage is starting to chaff."

" Sorry," he apologised a little wryly. " That dress just…"

" What's wrong with this dress?" she puffed up, planting her hands on her hips.

" Nothing," he said quickly, holding up his hands defensively. " It's just easy to forget that you're a warrior when you're wearing all that, soft fabric."

" Knew I should have left my armor on," she muttered, but she wasn't angry.

" I know you, you're just looking for the next fight," he chuckled. " Looking for the chance to put yourself between danger and everyone else."

" I'm just a little bit tired of people wandering around waiting for me to say something profound," she grumbled. " I think they've neglected the fact that I'd probably still be a Genlock if not for you."

" No one is interested in the men behind the Blessed One," he pointed out warmly. " Not when…"

" … she's that fair?" Alistair filled in, re-entering the room. " Yes, I've had this discussion with her, but she insists on wearing her hair like that."

Salana rolled her eyes to her husband, but she was smiling good-naturedly.

" I _always_ wear my hair like this," she pointed out.

" That is my point exactly," he smirked.

There was surprisingly little of the tension from earlier, and barely any at all between Alistair and Nathaniel, after all, they both truly wanted the same thing; both intelligent and honorable, they knew enough to understand that it was not something that could be taken, only given.

" Her Majesty was just telling me of the Tevinter rumors," Nathaniel said, changing the subject and bringing the topic of conversation back to business, where there was far less danger for him. " Though there was plenty of talk about the Blessed One along the border, I heard nothing of this key, but I think that makes it all the more frightening. Still," he continued. " And because I believe that the Imperium is already looking for a way to diminish Salana's growing popularity, I have to strongly discourage any plans to investigate yourselves."

" I have to admit that I feel the same way," Alistair agreed.

" Oh, so this is how it's going to be? You two allying against me?" Salana huffed.

" For your…" Alistair began, though Nathaniel had also said the same thing, finishing for them both.

" … own good."

" That is _creepy_," she frowned, and both men smirked at her. " Are we sure that Maric didn't have _another_ son?"

" I think that the twists and turns of his relationships are already convoluted enough without adding another bastard to the story," Nathaniel chuckled, but looked suddenly remorseful. " Ah, no offense intended your Majesty."

" None taken," Alistair laughed. " I happen to think you're right."

Nathaniel read more in the glance that Alistair then sent Salana than was apparent on the surface. Her slow blink was all the response her husband received, but that was enough for him to confidently speak his next statement.

" Rest easy, Warden Commander," he declared. " We shall not be going anywhere near Tevinter."


End file.
